Alice is reluctant, obviously caught up in the excitement of Lance’s presence, but after another nudge, she jumps to her feet, seized by the perpetual energy of childhood, and races out the door. Lance stands up from the chair, cautiously avoiding that invasive spring, and regards Nora uncertainly.

“Do you think we can keep in touch?” he asks.

He sees her dimples for a moment before she casts down her eyes. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind that. I don’t have a phone right now, though.”

“That’s okay. I’m….” He was going to say “I’m staying nearby,” but now he wonders if that’s still true. He looks impulsively toward the ranch, even though at present there’s a wall coated in peeling paper blocking his view. Still, he feels its draw as strongly now as he did the last time he stood in this house—itching, as always, to get across the creek.

“You’re living at the Chase place,” Nora says matter-of-factly. “Alice saw you come from there.”

Lance’s breath hitches. “I was staying there. But, now—I’m not sure.”

“Well,” she says with a shrug, and under the tough exterior, he sees a glimpse of a generosity of spirit that’s totally humbling, “you’re always welcome here. S’not much, but we stay warm enough.”

“Thank you for offering that. Maybe I’ll take you up on it.” He smiles at her, choosing his words carefully. “But either way, I’d like to come back and see you two.”

She nods. “Okay. I hope you do that.”

They step outside, just as Alice shrieks, “Mama!”

She’s streaking up from the creek, and Nora whips in her direction. Alice looks unhurt, still bundled tight in her snowsuit and running easily, but she’s breathless when she reaches them. “There’s another man down there!” she gasps. “A tall one with black hair.”

Lance finds himself moving toward the creek. He saw the spot from which Alice emerged, and it’s just the same tiny thinning in the trees where he used to make his own way, day in and day out in his treks over the creek. “I bet I know who it is,” he tells Nora. “I’m sure I do,” he adds with growing certainty, and then he breaks into a run for the tree line.

He reaches the trees and slows enough to navigate the branches, and the brambly new growth that tripped him up the last time he came this way, too, and then he reaches the decline toward the frozen stream. From there, he sees him: Robbie, standing on the center of the ice, one arm outstretched like he’s just come close to losing his balance. He looks up at Lance, red-faced above his beard, with the tips of his ears dark red from cold. He isn’t wearing a hat or a hood, and his eyes are cautious but hopeful when they meet Lance’s.

Some tide carries Lance the rest of the way down, over the treacherous ice and under Robbie’s outstretched arm. For a moment, he thinks they’re both going to lose traction and fall in a heap, but then as Robbie’s arms settle around his waist, and Lance’s around Robbie’s shoulders, they’re pressed together in perfect balance.